6:06
by You-drive-me-nuts-miller
Summary: Jess hasn't been able to sleep. She's got too much on her mind.


6:06. The light of the phone screen stung her eyes as she peeked at the clock for the hundredth time that night. The pressure in the middle of her temple throbbed and she rubbed her fingers against it, willing it to go away. Sleep had refused to arrive and release her. Instead, she was left to stew in her own thoughts – thoughts that had created a spiral of sadness inside her as she hugged her pillow tight.

It was July but she felt bone cold that evening. Her long flocked cotton pyjamas and thick nightgown failed to insulate her against this chill. Perhaps it was because this chill was not the result of the weather, but came from a place deep inside. Her fears.

Her eyelids sagged heavily, burning from the lack of sleep as she reached for her glasses and pushed her weary body from the bed. Tea was what was needed. It seemed the only thing that might give her some comfort. Slowly and quietly she opened her door and tip toed into the hall. She paused a second and looked at the door across from her own. It was closed. There was no strip of light peeking out from its base. She sighed, pushing away the nauseous feeling that was brewing just below her ribs. Her hands found her way into the pockets of her gown, her fingers closing around something soft and thin. Removing it, her eyes glassed over. It was a piece of yarn; chunky pure wool dyed the perfect shade of sky blue. She pushed it back into her pocket and continued to the kitchen.

_Eight hours earlier_

"What are you doing Schmidt?" Jess asked over the top of her thick rimmed glasses. Schmidt was sat at the dining table, surrounded by paper bags from Bed, Bath and Beyond. Jess stared at him as she settled onto the couch, pulling out her crochet needles from the canvas bag in her hands.

"Two words Jess. Feng. Shui."

"Feng Shui?"

"Yes Jessica. The ancient Chinese art of harmonization," he continued to search though the bags, pulling out a large cardboard box.

"I know what Feng Shui is Schmidt, I'm just wondering what it has to do with you. And Bed, Bath and Beyond."

He began to unpack the box, removing plastic peanuts as he spoke, "Well, if you must know, I talked to a late night TV spiritualist yesterday and he told me my chakra is all off. Or maybe it was my karma? Anyway, it explains everything. Cece, Elizabeth, that court case involving the dog and the rotisserie chicken-"

"What?-"

"Not important," he insisted, pulling from the box a three feet long set of metal and wire windchimes, "What I know is I need some good vibes. So that means candles and windchimes and I've ordered a small Bonsai tree-"

"So that's what all the candles are about," she exclaimed, looking at the selection of pillar candles and tea lights dotted around the loft, "I thought it was some kind of energy saving thing Nick had thought up."

"No Jess – it's karma."

"Schmidt, you realize that is something completely-" she stopped as she watched him try and hang the windchimes beside one of the large, blue-framed windows with a goofy smile on his face. She was going to let him have his moment here, "Good luck," she added as she began to work away at the thick ball of blue yarn at her feet.

A few minutes later she heard the loft door slam and she looked up and saw Nick, soaking wet, standing in the entrance hallway. "Nick, what's going on? Aren't you supposed to be at work?" she said in surprise, hastily stuffing the project back into the small canvas bag and pushing herself to her feet.

"Nicholas, you are dripping on the floor - I just polished!" Schmidt shrieked from his position near the window, his arm was now tangled in the wire of the wind chime – the little hollow cylinders dangling down like some weird kind of Christmas tree decoration.

"I don't want to talk about it," he huffed as he marched to his room. Jess gave Schmidt a confused look and made to follow him.

"Schmidt!" came an angry growl from the bedroom; Jess paused mid step, in time to see Nick reenter clutching a flannel shirt. "Why are there candles all over my room? You got wax on my only clean shirt!"

Schmidt continued to wrestle with his metal and wire prison, his arm covered in angry red lines, "It's Feng Shui – you're room has some serious bad chakra man. And I've told you a million times I will do your laundry if only you'd let me!"

"You are not touching my underwear!" he began to rub the waxy flannel over his damp hair, "And stay out of my room," he boomed as walked away once more, Jess following quickly behind.

As she stepped into the room he was unpicking the sodden buttons of his shirt, "Hey let me help," she said as she moved inside and closed the door.

"I'm fine," he replied, shrugging her away. She stood in awkward silence as he peeled off his button down and jeans before digging out a clean-ish looking t-shirt and sweats from the laundry basket she had made him buy.

"Are you going to talk to me?" she asked, her arms folded. He didn't reply, instead he stood, hands on his hips and rolled his tongue over his teeth. "Have I done something to make you mad?"

Shaking his head he slowly clicked his tongue, "I don't know if I can do it anymore."

"What?" she cried, _what the hell was he talking about?_

"It's too hard. Today, I got soaked by three frat boys I threw out for drinking under age. They emptied a fire extinguisher on me Jess." His mouth was set in a straight, angry line as his chest heaved. Inside, she felt light-headed from relief – it was the new job. That's what he was talking about.

"Nick, you've only been manager for three weeks now, you can't give up-"

"Can't I? Why not? I have no ties, I have some savings-"

"I wouldn't call $500 substantial savings Nick…"

"It's enough for me to get by," he retorted.

She swallowed hard as she watched him pace the room. Sure – he'd had a rough start. He'd been chewed out by the owner, Clyde, twice for mixing up an order. Three guys almost trashed the place last week and there was that time he'd caught Big Bob around the back with the new waitress… "Nick, you've gotta give it a chance."

"Really Jess? Why? I'm a free man."

His words felt like a slap in the face, hot and stinging. Her expression moved into a frown, "What about me?" she asked sharply.

"What about you?" he asked, cluelessly.

She pushed up her hands in the air in frustration, "Seriously Nick? I thought we were 'all in' you know, in this together. Well, that's what you told me. Does my opinion count for anything?"

He stared at her, "Why are you being bossy all of a sudden? You sound like my mother."

"Oh, you did not!" Her eyes blazed as she stared open mouthed.

Turning away he sat at his desk and flipped open his laptop.

"What are you doing? We are talking!" she said, flying over to where he stood and slamming the lid closed again. Calmly, he reopened it and pressed the power button.

"We were talking but then you got all weird so I left the conversation," he replied, not looking at her.

She turned so she was perched on the desk, so he had to look at her, "Are you really doing this?"

"It is what it is," he said with a shrug.

With a frustrated grunt, she stomped away stopping as she yanked open his door, "You know Miller, I love you but you can be a real ass sometimes." And with that she slammed the door shut.

* * *

She sipped the tea slowly, the hot steam fogging the bottom of her glasses. It sank down her throat slowly, inch by inch, warming her stomach. She looked over at Schmidt's work – the windchimes hung at an odd angle, it looked like he had cut the wire to extricate himself from his tangle. Taking her cup, she walked over to take a closer look, pausing at the couch –her crochet bag was still where she left it. Picking it up she pulled out the half-finished project, rubbing the soft wool between her fingers before shoving it quickly back inside.

Lying against the wall, she stood next to the window looking out at the still dark sky. Holding the cup between her hands she sighed again, the tiredness overwhelming her once more. Why had she expected things to turn out differently? Really, she should have known better. All the things that had stopped her taking that next step with Nick for so long had never gone away. He could sometimes be so immature, so childish and even now he still struggled to tell her how he really felt. She knew he loved her - he himself told her as much all the time. But was it enough? Is that what she needed? Especially now…

"Hi."

Startled, she turned and saw him. He stood ten feet away, his hair ruffled and his clothes creased. Under his eyes lay a dark shadow.

"Hi," she replied.

"I'm sorry," he said, his eyes locked on her.

She didn't reply. Instead she took a last sip of tea and headed to the kitchen, placing the cup in the sink. "Are you not talking to me?" he asked. Still she stayed silent, considering what to say, moving to perch on the arm of the couch near where he stood.

"You think you can say sorry for behaving like that and it'll all be fine?"

He licked his lips and shifted on his feet. Uncertainty crossed his face. "Um… I was a jerk Jess. I was just so, so mad-"

"And you took it out on me. I don't deserve that."

"No, no of course not," he sank to the floor so he was sitting at her feet, taking her hand in his.

His touch felt warm and comforting, all she wanted to do was for him to wrap his strong arms around her and hold her close, but she held back.

"Did you mean what you said?"

He looked confused for a second, "Oh, about the job? Nah," he shook his head, "That was just me being a dumbass. I've got a good thing going." She knew he wasn't just talking about the job.

"You know, for the first time with us I'm worried. About the future - if this is going to work. We seem stuck - we still have separate rooms for Pete's sake! What I mean is - I love you, but is that enough?"

He shuffled a little closer and wrapped his arms around her legs, laying his chin on her knee. "You know all I want to do is take care of you Jess. I'll always be a bit of a mess," he lifted his face and caught her eye, "But I'll never stop trying to be better. For you. For us."

She reached across the couch and took hold of the canvas crochet bag. "I was making you something."

"You were?" his eyes sparkled. Her heart sank and sang at the same time. When he looked at her like that, that look of wonder, she was lost.

"Yeah, but it's not finished."

"I can wait," he said softly.

She handed him the bag, "I think you can take a little peek."

Cautiously, his hand slid inside, removing a bundle of wool and needles. He held up the item, squinting and twisting his head to one side. "What is it?" he finally asked.

She took it from him, "Well this is an arm," she pointed to a small, three inch long scrap of crochet, "And this is going to be the back." He still looked confused. "It's a sweater. Or it will be," she explained.

"It's a little small Jess - wait, is it for Ferguson?"

"No Nick," she said, placing the half-finished sweater to one side, "It's for a baby."

She watched, a little amused, as his face twisted. His mouth stretched up and down, the little furrow between his brows deepened as he scrunched them together. Finally, his mouth dropped open a little before opening and closing. It reminded her of a goldfish.

"Jess. Are you?"

"Uh-huh," she nodded.

"And it's…?"

"Are you kidding me?" she cried as she reached to swat him with her hand.

Laughing, he pulled her down on top of him and began to layer her face in kisses, falling back onto the soft material of the rug.

"Nick, stop," she cried, laughing. Her cheeks were flushed and her hair hung down around her face, framing it perfectly. "Does this mean you are happy?"

"Happy? I'm freaking ecstatic." He hugged her tightly and pressed his lips against her neck.

"Easy there tiger," she said, moving to sit beside him.

Concern flooded his face, "Oh I didn't hurt you? I didn't hurt the baby I mean?"

"No," she said, his concern was sweet. "They're like the size of a bean now. He or she is well protected," she patted her stomach with one hand as he looked on in wonder. "But Nick, I need you to tell me, now, that we're okay. That you're okay. That this is going to work. For all of us."

The word 'all', struck him hard. In an instant they were no longer and 'us two' but a potential 'all of us'. He rubbed his stubble with his hand before he slipped and arm over her shoulders. "I promise." He kissed her face. "I may still occasionally act like an idiot. But I'll never stop loving you. Or it."

"Please don't call out future child 'it' Nick."

"Okay, bean."

"No, that's not gonna work for me."

"Pickle?"

"Urgh, no."

He bent his head down to her belly, "What about you little guy, uh, or girl? What do you want your mom and pop to call ya?"

Laughing she pushed his head away, "You knucklehead."

"I swear I heard the word bean…"

She closed her eyes and lay into him. "I'm so tired, we can talk more later. Take me to bed. To our bed."

Wearily she slipped her arm over his shoulder and allowed him to pick her up. "You know, it kinda makes sense now. You've been awful snappy lately."

"Nick," she growled, a dangerous edge to her voice, "Quit while you're ahead."

"Sure momma," he replied, giving her a soft kiss on the cheek.


End file.
